


18 - Close Call

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Day 18, Exhibitionism, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, John likes games, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 09:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: John Watson has a game he likes to play and he calls it "Close Call"





	18 - Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this four different ways today, and this was the only one that kind of sort of fit the bill.
> 
> I have very little free time but I think I can keep doing a fic a day...

John liked to show Sherlock off, that was true right from the very first day. John’s blog was all about Sherlock and his cases, just like John’s life, everyone knew it. What they didn’t know was that John was a bit of a game player and what he liked to play was something he had named _Close Call_.

Sherlock rather loved it.

John still loudly protested that he wasn’t gay, that they weren’t in a relationship, and _demanded_ openly for people to just leave them alone. That’s what he did in public and it made Sherlock’s knees weak. John was a sneaky little bastard though and the moment he had Sherlock out of sight, the game was on. “Stay silent.” John would caution, “If anyone hears you, I stop.”

Sherlock kept his lips pressed together and nodded silently. With a rakish grin, John would begin. Today they were in a warehouse. It echoed dreadfully. John dropped to his knees and Sherlock was already almost whimpering, his hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his panting breaths. Unzipping his flies, John pulled Sherlock’s cock out and put it right into his mouth. Sherlock wanted to moan, to sigh, to whisper John’s name. Instead, he sweated in glorious silence, writhing where he stood as John sucked him off. When they heard Lestrade approaching, John slowed down but didn’t stop. Sherlock grasped his shoulder desperately and could feel John trying to grin around his aching cock. They had mere seconds and John used every last one of them to keep Sherlock on the edge.

When Lestrade showed up Sherlock was red faced and panting, the sweat on his brow still beaded, “What happened here?”

“Oh, he thought he heard someone in the back so he ran off and just ran back, give him a second to catch his breath, I don’t think he saw anyone but he didn’t want to risk it or leave me alone too long. You know I can’t run like I used to. Damn my leg!” Lestrade didn’t even seem to notice how red John’s lips were, or how the air smelled of sex. Sherlock shrugged as casually as he could, not confirming John’s fib but not denying it either, “See? No luck.”

“Right, we’re doing a sweep of the offices, stay here and be quiet.” Greg left quickly after John solemnly promised.

The second Lestrade was out of sight, Sherlock slowly crumpled to the floor, gasping and panting, trying to catch the breath he’d been faking not needing, “I almost died, John.”

“Good, wasn’t it?”

John was a little bastard because it had been stupendous, the added strain of staying silent causing his orgasm to increase in intensity.

They were currently at Bart’s waiting for test results that Molly was running for them. She was in the room, albeit very focused on her work since lives were depending on it. John was chattering amiably with Sherlock about nothing in particular. It was a talent of his, _chatter_. His soft-spoken comments also served the purpose of hiding the wet slick sounds of his fist masturbating Sherlock’s dripping hard cock while the consulting detective kept his back to the pathologist. “Anyway, we need to hit the shops on the way home, and we need to stop at Mrs Hudson’s to help her move that bureau, and after that…” Sherlock came with his mouth wide open and his eyes squeezed so tight that he could see splashes of colour behind his lids but since he remained almost entirely silent, John kept going until Sherlock was done. A wet-wipe magically appeared and then a silently gasping Sherlock was tucked back into his pants and left to try and finish up with his work.

Sherlock was only partially surprised to learn that these distractions did not take away from his skills, if anything, they enhanced them. Sexual tension and uncertainty were now non-entities in his world. John was unpredictable and not knowing when he would lay hands on Sherlock in public again was so exciting that Sherlock went everywhere in a state of imminent arousal. John enjoyed playing in riskier and riskier venues, now having gotten Sherlock off at the Yard in the gents on the main level, the morgue on four different occasions, six different alleys, and most daringly, inside a confessional of a long disused church that had been converted into a playhouse where a series of gruesome murders had occurred. Anderson’s team was collecting evidence only a few metres away but John also enjoyed swallowing, leaving nothing behind to be found.

When they were at home, the game continued. John once conducted a long telephone call with his sister while giving Sherlock a handjob. Harry had been oblivious. Sherlock had once been hanging samples up on strings in front of their window when John came up behind him, pulling Sherlock’s pants down and introducing him to _analingus_ while Sherlock stood stock still in front of the pane of glass and tried not to show the word how much he was enjoying having his arse licked by his best friend.

John played the game in many ways. Sherlock was working a case with Lestrade and had camped out in the kitchen to run a battery of tests while he sent the DI all over London based on the results. He was grateful to be texting because there was no way he could be silent as John worked a short wide plug into his arse before sucking him off, leaving the plug behind after. Sherlock couldn’t stand for the longest time, perching on his chair and rocking back and forth to shift the toy curiously.

John made him wear it a lot, teaching Sherlock how to use the lubricant with generosity, how to accept it. When Sherlock was accustomed to it, John had him wear it around the city, a hidden secret that John teased Sherlock with, rocking it gently with his hand whenever he could sneak it around to touch Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock had never experienced prolonged arousals like that caused by John Watson and his games.

They were in a nightclub the night John decided it was time. He pulled Sherlock into the loo, taking the small stall at the end that gave them barely any room. There, John extracted the plug while deafening levels of music was piped in from the dance floor. People were coming in and out constantly but that didn’t stop John. There, over a dirty toilet in one of the less posh clubs in town, John Watson took Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock tried to stifle his moans, he really did. The only thing saving his dignity was the loud music so he forced himself to time his moans to moments when they’d be more covered. The door rattled and he nearly came. “Hurry up in there!” Someone shouted.

“Fuck off!” Shouted John, not slowing one bit, “I’m not done yet.”

Sherlock could see someone in the stall next to them and he heard their gasp of recognition. He was looking downward since John had him leaning over the pot with his hands on the tank so he saw the camera poking under the stall wall. They were being recorded!

“Yeah, go on mate, like seeing my cock go in him?” Sherlock knew the angle was wrong. Whoever was filming them could only see Sherlock’s thighs, his arse, and glimpses of John’s cock but still, someone was watching them fuck.

It was thrilling.

“He’s tight and perfect.” John bragged, his voice almost unrecognisable with lust, “Such a good fuck, none better.”

It was too much. The faceless cameraman, John’s words, the cock in his arse. Sherlock groaned loudly, feeling his cock twitch before pulsing out a stream of come right into the toilet. Only John’s hands on his hips kept him from collapsing. Sherlock felt John’s cock swell and then throb deep inside him. The camera disappeared but the sound of someone spitting and then the unmistakeable sound of someone masturbating furiously let them know that they were gainfully occupied. Stuffing themselves back into their clothes, John and Sherlock escaped anonymously, hiding in the crowds of dancers while Sherlock tried to regain use of his legs.

The next night John went out for drinks with Lestrade. Sherlock tagged along as he sometimes did. Tonight he sipped his drink while Greg told John about how he’d heard two blokes shagging in the stall next to him, not mentioning how he’d recorded them, nor how he’d tossed off directly after, “Sounds like a close call.” John said. Sherlock remained silent.


End file.
